


Life is Like a Dream

by Waitlist



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waitlist/pseuds/Waitlist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a writer, or maybe a teacher. Whatever. It doesn't matter now because you're in Night Vale.<br/>(short reader perspective for my favourite podcast ever!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life is Like a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> more early stories posted late. i think this was finished last december? ah well. enjoy.

'Good morning dear readers!', You type cheerfully (even though you know no one will ever read it).

'Today is the day I start my adventure to Night Vale. Remember how I posted about it last week?' You ask nobody in particular.

'Yes, the town of impossible feats. It's coordinates on the globe are scientifically different every time you check.' It's true. You researched this part in detail, and it amazes you every time you think about it.

'The place with inhuman citizens, and unbelievably high resident satisfaction figures!' Another exciting feature you type into your computer. Your travels to Night Vale are something you want to share with the world.

'I will be sure to update this page every few hours to let everyone know how it's going! Stay classy, readers!'

Stay classy? What kind of a salutation was that, huh? You resist the urge to smack yourself for the cheesy line. Soon enough, enthusiasm replaces literary regret. Night Vale! The town of your dreams, a desert village where orthodox takes a break. Finally, you can walk in the park with a digital camera to photograph nature without receiving odd stares. You can stand on the streets of shopping precincts holding a clipboard and ask strangers questions that aren’t really important at all! At last, the library will be a place where you can sit and spot ghosts for hours on end.

Your life will really begin in Night Vale, you’re sure of it.

~

'It's just as beautiful as I imagined, readers.' You begin with something subtly cliche.

'The sky here at night is purple; like the vivid purple of amethyst!' You mentally remind yourself to attach a picture of some amethyst to the post later.

'Tomorrow I get my papers signed and stamped. Isn't the fast service great? I'd usually have to wait weeks for that!' Night Vale citizenship is the three-worded phrase that has been on your Christmas list for years.

'The weather is surprisingly cool for a desert, and it's so refreshing. Four people have already stopped to say hello.' I mean, it's like you're not even in America anymore.

'Of course I'll be posting more tomorrow, maybe with pictures or video!' You glance away from your laptop to eye the digital camera on your desk.

'As always, have a good evening readers!'

You roll backwards on your swish office chair. Blogging or photography wasn’t going to bring in the initial money that you’ll need for mortgages. Searching and applying for job vacancies is something that you simply push to the back of your thoughts. For later. For now, you yawn.

You barely manage to change and get into bed before a deep dream pulls you down and whisks you away.

~

You're awake unusually early today. Your clock says 7:30am, but the deep deep indigo outside says otherwise. And to think, you used to trust that clock.

Something startles you upright. A sharp tap tapping sound, telltale of something sharp to glass. Without getting up, you can see there's a bird at your window. You can tell. Why don't you go and see what the bird wants? It'll only keep tapping.

When you reach your window, it stops. The stare from it's third eye seems to emanate a vague sense of fear, but you suppose that might just be the tall black-hooded figure beside it. It's a crow, you think drowsily. Odd for a desert.

A familiar smell brushes past your nose. The smell of sea spray. Sea spray smells bring memories of noisy and sandy beaches back, gift wrapped in a hot, burning, gravelly sensation under your feet. You would scream or step away if you could, but the sand was eternal. No point trying to escape, right? Not when you can open your eyes and see the sun above the blue horizon.

It's larger than you remember.

Brighter too.

_"Back to bed...,"_ The crow whispers. Well, you assume it was the crow. You can't actually see anything at all, so it might've been the figure. All the same, you obey.

~

There was something you did. What did you do? A hobby for the evenings. You glance at your wristwatch and ignore the swelling pink scar on the back of your hand. It’s 7:30pm. The wolves outside continue to howl at the sharp moon. You really ought to let the council know about that. Never mind, you think, you yawn. Whatever it was you did after work could wait for tomorrow. You’re very tired. Early start tomorrow, you remind yourself, although you’re not sure why you’re waking up early. Maybe it’s something to do with collecting your citizenship documents.

~

Blogging. The word hits you like a slammed door as you check your wristwatch. Yes, you were a blogger! What a wonderful thing to be! At exactly 7:30pm, you open your laptop and begin typing.

'Hello readers!' You start with a large grin on your face. Blogging was the most fun ever. But what did bloggers talk about? The weather?

'The weather today was like crumpled tin foil.' No, talking about the weather didn't seem right. You take a moment to read posts you've made in the past. Ah, of course! You remember that you just have to talk about your day!

'Today I woke up at 6am to feed the birds. Then at 7am, I went to work. The students today were very nice, and one of them gave me a flower. How cute!' You hesitate before adding that last part. Was it okay to add personal flair? Surely opinions could only contribute to a discussion.

'When work ended, I walked to the library and just breathed in the old papery air for a while. I got home at 7:30pm and began blogging.' The rest of your day hadn't started yet. If you stopped blogging now, you would only have to start blogging again to mention that you had stopped and restarted blogging. You ponder briefly over the effects that your hobby has on the continuous timeflow.

Saving that post, you go into the kitchen to eat. The owls tonight are louder than ever, and the back of your right hand is itching like crazy. Of course you’re happy in Night Vale. You couldn’t be happier if you tried.


End file.
